


A Boy and His (Former) Antichrist

by MTriniSepulveda (WriterOfStories)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOfStories/pseuds/MTriniSepulveda
Summary: The addition of Warlock to The Them had been seamless; like two streams joining to make a river. It had felt almost like destined, though they didn’t really believe in destiny after the events of their childhood. He fit in perfectly. He was quiet, but that didn’t mean he was an outsider. It really felt like he had been part of the group for years instead of the month and a half that it had really been. That’s why when they had a four-day weekend, they decided to go to Tadfield.And you know Tadfield... it likes to start drama now and then.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), The Them - Relationship, Warlock Dowling & The Them (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 10
Kudos: 242





	A Boy and His (Former) Antichrist

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wanted to say this follows mostly the TV show version because I read the book too fast and can't remember the differences. Ok, bye!

THE ADDITION OF WARLOCK TO THE THEM had been seamless; like two streams that joined to make a river. The Them had been having lunch in a cafe near their shared flat when Pepper spotted Warlock coming in. They were classmates in one of her political science classes and tended to sit together in it. She called him ‘the only one with a brain’, not because everyone else was an idiot (most were, though) but because he was the only one with an open mind willing to change his opinion the more he learned. They had had to discuss a text, one written by a man almost three hundred years ago about pregnancy (read: sexist), and Warlock had the poor luck to be sitting next to a raging Pepper. After she had finished her rant, that lasted ten out of the fifteen minutes, Warlock had been silent for a few seconds and then said “I think you’re right, actually.” The point is, that Pepper, upon seeing him on his own and knowing enough to know he planned on eating alone as well, stood up and walked up to him with firm steps, leaving the rest of the Them to watch her in confusion. 

When she reached Warlock, she quickly started talking. Now, Pepper wasn’t a chatty girl that talked and talked without giving the other person a chance to talk as well, but next to Warlock it seemed that way. Adam, Brian, and Wensley were watching her chat animatedly with the guy, a smile plastered on her face. They were, needless to say, extremely confused. They had heard her talk about this guy at home briefly but that was it. Then Pepper pointed at them, and Warlock followed. They waved slightly, and he returned it with a half-wave and what seemed to be between a smile and a smirk. 

After Warlock ordered and paid, the two walked towards the table and Pepper introduced him, “Guys, this is Warlock Dowling. Warlock, these are the guys.”

“We have names,” Adam smirked, “I’m Adam, that’s Brian, and Wensley.”

While it didn’t seem like it, the smirk Adam had given the two wasn’t because Pepper didn’t introduce them. No, it was actually directed one hundred percent to Pepper to tease her. Adam was the only one brave enough to tease the girl, but that bravery quickly wavered under her stink eye. Pepper was not a girl you wanted as your enemy.

“He’ll be sitting with us,” Pepper didn’t ask but inform and brought a chair for him to sit. Warlock remained silent still. 

The conversation resumed and this is the moment where the streams connected. The conversation flowed easily, as always, even when they had a new companion. Sure, Warlock had yet to say a word, but it didn’t feel like he was being ignored. He was just very quiet. Pepper had told them about that, at least. Brian and Wensley had started their usual brotherly bickering, something they carried on doing from their childhood, and Pepper had somehow gotten involved. Adam, on the other hand, had seen it come from miles away and quickly backed down from it. He took this time to look, really look, at Warlock. The latter was invested in the bickering like an audience member is invested in a tennis match. Snickering quietly from time to time, and then pressing his lips into a thin line to avoid getting caught snickering. 

Warlock was tall but it didn’t show. He slouched slightly, as if to appear smaller, unlike Adam (who was about or just under the same height) that stood straight all the time, proud of his height. Warlock was also thin, not in the needs-to-eat-more way but rather gracefully thin, slender. As if any more or less weight would look weird on him. He was wearing black skin jeans with rips that made Adam wonder if he had bought them like that or something happened. His shirt —also black— was a Queen’s shirt, with a cartoon of Freddy Mercury’s profile screaming into a microphone. From the neck of said shirt were a pair of sunglasses hanging, showing how much he used them. The leather jacket’s sleeves were slightly worn, probably from nervous fidgeting. His all-black attire gave him an even more of a cornstalk vibe than his height and build did already. Finally, Adam noticed that his hair had been pulled into half ponytail, something Adam himself did from time to time but Warlock’s hair almost reached his shoulders and made the half-ponytail look good, unlike Adam’s that usually looked like a failed attempt to keep his wild golden curls off his face. He didn’t have more time to look at the guy when Brian stuck his tongue out at Wensley, a tell-tale sign that the latter won the argument. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Pepper resumed the conversation as if the argument had only been a commercial break in a movie, “Adam’s studying environmental science and we’re going to next week’s rall—“ 

“Bull.” And that was it. The first word Warlock had said to the Them. Pepper stopped in the middle of her sentence and frowned confused. 

“What?”

“Environmental science is the cope out answer,” Warlock shrugged slightly and sipped the orange juice a waitress had brought a little bit after he sat down. “The ‘I want to help the world but I still don’t know exactly how’.”

The Them fell silent. It was spot on. It was a thing he had been struggling with since he started thinking about college and the rest of his life. He couldn’t be Anathema’s pupil for the rest of his life, he already knew most of it, and being a witch (which he hardly considered himself one despite spending the last couple of years learning how to be one) didn’t exactly pay. Adam wanted to ask how he had known but he didn’t. It didn’t really matter at the moment. 

The truth was that Warlock had been that kid through a great portion of high school, which he did in America. He had looked into environmental science, psychology for kids (which his own therapist had highly recommended he didn’t, given that his own childhood would be place under a new light that he may not be able to handle), and like that Warlock went through hundreds of ideas. 

“What are you studying?” Adam decided on asking. 

“Art history.” 

Brian stole a chip from Adam’s plate and looked at Warlock and Pepper, “I thought you two shared a politics class.” 

The two nodded.

“Why are you taking a politics class if you’re not studying politics?” Adam caught on and asked, equally confused. 

“Why would he?” Wensley asked with a shrug, “If my father was a diplomat, I wouldn’t touch politics even with a ten-foot pole.” 

“Your father’s a diplomat?” 

Warlock nodded. And that was it, the conversation about his father was over and it quickly shifted to America itself. The Them had always been interested in America, not because of the country itself but because to small town kids, a country that big kind of seemed like a fairytale. Warlock didn’t have much input in that conversation either, it had rapidly turned into the Them building off each other’s ideas, one sillier than the other, and Warlock chuckling and shaking his head. 

And the river was formed. Warlock’s addition to the Them had felt almost like destined, though they didn’t really believe in destiny after the events of their childhood. He fit in perfectly. He was quiet, but that didn’t mean he was an outsider. It really felt like he had been part of the group for years instead of the month and a half that it had really been. That’s why when they had a four-day weekend, they decided to go to Tadfield. 

  
  
  
  


ADAM FOUND WHAT WAS WRONG two weeks into knowing Warlock. There was nothing wrong with the guy himself, but with Adam. It had been just the two of them, heading towards Adam’s flat after their classes were over to have a take-out dinner with the others. The two had been walking in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes; Adam didn’t really feel like talking, and Warlock was always fine with silence. The silence wasn’t what was wrong either, it was rather nice being silent from time to time.

It was halfway through their walk that they encountered a snail making its way towards the bushes. It was halfway there, leaving a shiny and slimy trail behind, and Adam had not seen it. He was about to step on it when Warlock stopped him. 

“Wh—“ Adam didn’t even get to turn to look at his friend and ask when Warlock crouched down. He grabbed the snail by the shell without hesitation and placed it on the dirt under the bush, thus concluding the snail’s journey to safety. 

“There you go.” Warlock muttered to himself, just loud enough for Adam to hear it. And that was when he realized what was wrong. 

Adam had known he had a teeny tiny crush on his new friend. The crush that eventually fades away and that he had expected to fade away soon. The others didn’t know and hadn’t realized it either, yet. But as Adam watched him move the snail to safety and realized that Warlock stopped him from stepping on it, Adam knew that the crush was not going to fade away anytime soon. More and more things like that happened after that day that doomed Adam more and more. The group visited Warlock’s flat briefly once and learned that Warlock had a green thumb. He had those hanging plants on his window sills, and most shelves had plants on them. All were also perfectly healthy, showing he took care of them constantly. Another time had been that he found Warlock mid-painting session. Warlock had been doing a project with Pepper for their shared class and apparently finished because by the time Adam had gotten home, Warlock was working painting and wearing big black headphones (with golden skulls) while Pepper typed away at the other end of the dining table. Adam had asked and Pepper had answered it was for his art class. There were streaks of yellows and oranges in his hair and hair tie, and a blue streak running down his right temple. Adam had sat down next to Pepper to work on his own papers but kept getting distracted by the oblivious painter in front of him. 

That’s why, when planning their trip to Tadfield, Adam both blessed and cursed his friends under his breath. Brian had said that Warlock should stay with Adam, not because he didn’t want Warlock to stay with him but because he had five younger sisters who had learned a lot from Pepper. Wensley had also declined having Warlock stay with him because of his parents, who would start asking too many questions and probably overwhelm their quiet friend to death. Pepper had said no because her mother had said no —Pepper’s mother had a bit of resentment towards men after Pepper’s father disappeared a bit before they moved back into town. That left only Adam. Which was great, Adam loved having friends over and his parents were also very welcoming in that sense. But this was the same guy Adam was rapidly falling in love with. 

They traveled by train. None of them drove and none of them had a car either way, so they took the train. When they arrived, the Youngs were waiting for them. 

Adam rushed to greet them. He hugged his mother, a short blonde woman, and then his father, a plump man with a dark mustache. The rest of the Them also greeted them excitedly. It was the first time they were home in almost three months. Adam gestured for Warlock to get closer. 

“Mum, Dad, this is Warlock.” 

“Nice to meet you, Warlock,” Mrs. Young shook his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

As Mr. Young shook his hand, he mentioned, “Warlock, that’s an English name, innit? You don’t sound English though.” 

“He’s American, Dad.” 

“But, um, yeah,” Warlock scratched the back of his neck. The group already knew how he didn’t like people commenting on his name. He wasn’t going to be disrespectful to Adam’s parents, though. “I was named by a nun.” 

Mr. Young huffed a chuckle, “Funny, Adam was also named by a nun.” 

“Wait, what?” Adam perked up and frowned. Brian, Pepper, and Wensley snickered quietly; it was hilarious to them that the Antichrist had been named by a nun. “How did I not know this?”

Mrs. Young chuckled as they made their way to the car. “You never asked, dear.”

“I think I’m going to ask everything from now on,” he muttered quietly. Warlock chuckled next to him and Adam felt his heart stop for a second. He had not meant for Warlock to hear his petulant response. 

They dropped off the others one by one before reaching the Young household. They had planned to meet for ice cream the next day after lunch and then head to their secret hide out in the forest. 

Adam entered the house first and soon enough there was a yapping little dog running around his feet excitedly. Dog saw Warlock come in and quickly left Adam to go greet the newcomer. The three Youngs stopped to watch the scene, as Warlock crouched without hesitation to pet Dog. He only glanced up after noticing that everyone had fallen silent. 

“He likes you,” Mrs. Young noticed in slight amusement, “he usually growls at anyone Adam brings home.”

Warlock, still petting Dog, looked at Adam who quickly looked away with a blush on his cheeks. Adam knew exactly why Dog like Warlock and it only meant much more trouble for him. If Dog could sense his crush on Warlock enough to like him as well, then he was in deeper than he thought. 

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he motioned for Warlock to follow him, “You too, Dog, c’mon.”

The two fell into step with Adam. Warlock turned to look at the still somewhat-blushing Adam and smirked that insufferably cute smirk of his. “His name’s Dog?”

“I was eleven,” Adam defended himself as the blush came back much stronger. He needed to compose himself, for someone’s sake. 

“Saves a lot of trouble, a simple name like that,” Warlock agreed and fell silent once more. It wasn’t a big house, but it was home. The garden was the best part but it was hard to see at night. 

They would be sharing his room, his parents had already set up a mattress on the floor of Adam’s room. Adam knew this meant the guest room had once again filled with a disorganized mess of clutter, because the mattress could only have been from the guest room. 

As they entered the room, Warlock got immediately distracted by some of the things that still hung from the ceiling. There were a few poorly made UFOs and a few model planes that he had put together with Newt when he was thirteen.

“Bit of a fan, huh?” 

Adam glanced at what Warlock was looking at and noticed the giant stack of New Aquarians that still resided in his shelves, along with many other magazines of the same style he had collected through the years. 

“Uh, yeah. Anathema gave me most of them.” Warlock raised an eyebrow. “Oh, she’s the town’s witch. Lives down in Jasmine Cottage.” 

“You have a town’s witch?” Adam nodded with a faint shrug, “Man, I wish I grew up here.”

He chuckled slightly as Warlock sat down next to him, still looking around the cluttered room. It was cleaner than it had ever been, probably his mother’s doing, but the walls were still covered with drawings and posters and books and toys, and well, Adam may have a little bit of a hoarding problem. 

“You could probably meet her,” he mentioned off-handed, and noticed how Warlock’s eyes immediately snapped to loom at him. Had Adam ever looked into his eyes? They were a faded blue, kind of like the color of the sky when there’s faint clouds... kind of like the color of Mrs. Young’s eyes(Adam quickly shook that image out of his head, he did not want to compare his crush with his mother. Nuh-huh). But even though they were faded, they stood out against his dark brown hair. His eyes were quite pretty, he had to admit. He shook the thought of Warlock’s eyes aside and, a bit selfishly, asked, “You like witches?” 

Now, why ‘selfishly’? Well, mainly because Adam was, somewhat, a witch himself. Or at least a witch in training. Potato potato. 

Warlock nodded, “I think my nanny was a witch.”

Adam wanted to make the comment that of course he had a nanny growing up, but a dark light casted on Warlock’s eyes upon mentioning his nanny. He didn’t need to read Warlock’s aura to know that it was a painful memory, his face said it all, so instead he joked, “Figured, with a name like yours...”

Warlock narrowed his eyes at him before bumping their shoulders. He chuckled. Adam smiled slightly at the chuckle and leaned back in his bed to sit with his back resting against the wall. Adam started talking about witches, and what they did, and about Anathema (and Newt too), and about his own training. He didn’t mention why the Them and Anathema really started talking, other than being pesky kids who wouldn’t leave the witch alone. The Them wanted to know what Warlock thought of demons and angels before springing the Antichrist truth on him. They wanted to keep their friend and if Warlock started thinking they were all actually insane, then it’d be a bit harder to be friends. He’d probably try to send them to get help. So, instead, he just talked about witches, and what they used to play when they were younger, and how he found Dog (who was now contentedly resting on Warlock’s lap), among other silly and trivial things. 

  
  
  
  
  


THE FIVE WERE WALKING down the road holding their ice-creams and making their way to the secret hide out when they crossed in front of Jasmine Cottage. They had bought ice cream just for the sheer reminiscence of their childhood, not that they would say no to ice cream either way. It was a nice day out, with the autumn sun barely warming their skin. They saw Anathema standing next to the window, fixing the herbs that grew in a long wooden box on the window sill, giving them her back and completely unaware of them. 

The Them rushed to the fence and started yelling, “Witch! Witch! Witch!”

Anathema, startled by their sudden yelling, dropped the little scissors she was holding and turned around. She pressed her hand against her chest as she breathed deeply. 

“How long have you been in town?” She asked with faux annoyance (read: fondness). Adam opened the gate and quickly they all trickled in. Anathema and Newt had bought the Jasmine Cottage a few years after the Not-End. Her eyes trailed down the line and landed on Warlock, a smile tugging at her lips. “I see you have finally opened up your little circle, huh?” 

“Oh, right, this is Warlock.” Adam presented him and Anathema offered a hand that Warlock shook. “Warlock, this is the witch I was telling you about.”

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled and looked at Adam with those knowing eyes of her. “I was wondering why we were getting such nice weather.” 

Wensley and Brian snickered, earning a narrowed eyed glare from Adam. Pepper simply smirked. Anathema chuckled at Warlock’s very lost expression and shook her head, as if telling him it was nothing. Adam just hoped no one noticed his reddening cheeks (everyone did). 

To save him, Anathema asked instead, “Where are you all going?” 

“To the forest, we’re showing Warlock around,” Pepper explained. 

Anathema nodded and looked at Adam, “How are that Angel and Demon of yours?” 

Their eyes went wide as they looked at her, trying to tell her off, but she didn’t catch. Adam was the one who spoke the most with Aziraphale and Crowley. He had been getting closer to the two as he got older. He had spent some weeks of summer with them in London, to learn more about his heritage, and realized two major things. One, Crowley was amazing with people, and Two, Aziraphale was much more of a bastard than he let on. Crowley also liked children while Aziraphale liked teens. He just happened to go to London when he was fifteen —when one is too young to be old, yet too old to be young. Adam had always been, and still was, childish in mind. And upon his request, they had yet to tell Warlock of Adam’s heritage. He just feared that they’d lose a friend if he knew, under the pretense of the Them being insane. They really were not insane but none of them could really stand being called insane.

“What?” Warlock frowned confused. 

Anathema’s face lit up with realization, “He doesn’t know... Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Adam.”

“Don’t know what?”

Adam looked at the others and resigned. He didn’t want to lie to Warlock. He had been honest to Adam and it didn’t feel fair for him to be lied to. So, with something that resembled fear running down his spine, Adam turned to Warlock, “Do you believe in God?” 

Warlock blinked a couple of times and, very slowly, said, “What.” 

Anathema nodded to herself and turned to go in the house, “I’ll make lemonade.”

The five students trailed into the house and sat around the small kitchen, cramming in a way they never had to when younger. “So... um, you never really answered.”

“I—I do... believe in God,” Warlock didn’t sound sure of himself but quickly shook his head. “I believe in Hell, Heaven. Therefore there’s gotta be a God behind it.”

Now, call him sappy or whatever you’d like, but Adam couldn’t help but notice that even when speaking, Warlock used the least amount of words he could. He quickly shook the thought away, though it was probably going to come back later that night. “You believe in Hell?” 

Warlock scoffed and looked down at his hands that rested on the table. He fiddled with the hair tie on his wrist, not looking up as he said, “With my father on Earth? Heh, there  _ has _ to be a Hell.”

The silence that fell over the room was like a heavy blanket. No one wanted to really say anything because... well, how do you respond to that? They knew Warlock hated his parents but never imagined enough to make him believe in a place like Hell. 

Pepper’s slender fingers wrapped around his forearm, and Warlock half-smiled at her before clearing his throat and looking at Adam, prompting him to continue. 

“Right, right, so, um,” Adam didn’t know how to continue. Not really. “They’re real, actually real, and there’s angel and demons —we know two, very nice men— and, um, eight years ago we fought Armageddon, which turned out it was me, and—“ 

Anathema pressed a hand to his shoulder and Adam immediately stopped. He took a breath and realized how much he was ranting.

“Right, sorry,” Adam noticed Warlock looking at him with something that resembled concern and confusion. He realized that he had never before had to tell anyone he was the Antichrist and suffer the consequences. He didn’t want to lose Warlock. He liked to keep things as they were... “I’m the Antichrist.”

“The... Antichrist.”

“Mmhmm,” Adam was getting nervous. He wasn’t used to being nervous. He wasn’t used to being nervous about Warlock’s silence, either. But he was. His knee was bouncing slightly and his brain, usually confident of where he stood and said, was running hundreds of scenarios. Warlock continued being silent. 

“Alright.”

“Al—Alright?” 

Warlock chuckled softly, “You’re not one to lie, Adam. You don’t like it, so why’d you lie ‘bout this?” 

Pepper looked away as she started shaking with laughter. These were one of her favorite moments; Warlock had an amazing talent to read people without ever meeting them. Especially Adam, or maybe he just did it to Adam more often.

“Are you a witch, Warlock?” Anathema asked cutting the Pepper’s-laughter-filled air. 

Warlock shook his head. 

“Why?” Wensley asked as he pushed his glasses up. 

“You just... nothing... you sure you’ve never learned anything... witchy?”

Warlock thought for a second, “I had a weird childhood. I know a lot I shouldn’t.” 

  
  
  
  
  


THE FOREST WAS STILL THE SAME from when they left. The Them suspected it was thanks to Adam loving the place so much that nothing ever changed there unless they wanted it to, but they couldn’t be sure. Adam had supposedly, and as far as he knew, gotten rid of his powers after facing his Satanic father. On a deeper level, Adam still held control over few things because he just couldn’t get rid of all the powers any more than a brunette can get rid of her hair color with dye. From time to time his powers would resurface the same way roots do in dyed hair. 

It was the little things really, like Anathema had mentioned the weather. Adam had really wanted nice weather to show Warlock around and a dry patch in the forest for them to lie around. So that’s where they found themselves, lying down on their backs and watching the wind ruffle the leaves of the yellow-and-orange canopy with the warm autumn sun kissing their faces where it filtered through the leaves. It was a perfect day. They were lined up like this: Dog, Adam, Warlock, Pepper, Wensley, and finally Brian. 

“So... you could do anything with reality?” 

“Pretty much.”

Warlock simply hummed. Wensley continued telling him about the Armaggedidn’t from their point of view while Adam had an arm draped over his eyes, blocking the sun and his friends. He hated hearing what he did that day, how he had treated his friends who had only been supportive but he had come to terms with it for the most part. He made himself promise to never do it again, reprimanding himself in the mirror after a few nights of nightmares. Most of that day, before he had come back to his right mind, was still a bit fuzzy. He remembered erasing their mouths the most because it was partly what caused him to snap out of it. 

“And well, after that Adam was grounded for... how long was it? A couple of months? A year?”

“A week.”

“Really? It felt much much longer,” Brian commented. 

“Nope, just a week.”

After that they fell into silence. Story time over, Adam pushed his arm back and watch the twirling leaves for a little bit and then turned to look at Warlock. The latter was lost in thought, probably processing what he had just been told. On the way to the forest he had admitted that, for a little bit, he truly thought they were Satanist. They had laughed a great deal about it. The mere thought of the Them supporting the person who almost caused Adam to destroy the world was hilarious. 

Adam noticed there was a small scar right over his lip, like the one his mom had from where he used to scratch her mole when he was younger (and then she had it surgically removed), faint against his pale skin. He also noticed the sunglasses hanging —resting now that he was lying down— from the neck of his shirt. He had been right, upon meeting Warlock, that he used his sunglasses a whole lot. It was very unusual for him to be seen without them. They had a metal part on the side, with little holes like a cheese grater, that whenever he put them on one couldn’t see his eyes through the side. They reminded him of Crowley’s but Adam pushed the thought aside as well, they probably sold those sunglasses everywhere. 

They probably looked very odd to others. Five college students lying on the ground in the middle of the forest, Adam realized and was about to mention it when Pepper finally broke the silence. 

“Why do you believe in Heaven?”

Warlock didn’t look at her, but he did let out a huff as if telling her that he was thinking and not ignoring her. 

“Well, if there’s Hell for my father and his like,” he started and paused, fiddling absentmindedly with the sunglasses, “there has to be Heaven for people like Br— for the good people.” 

“Like who? You almost said a name there,” Brian spoke what they were all thinking.

Warlock stayed quiet for a minute, taking the sunglasses and holding them up to look at the details in them. 

“We had a gardener, growing up... Brother Francis, he was good. Loved everything... and of course there was Nanny Ashtoreth, too. She was... different.”

“How?” Adam asked, his eyes still trained on Warlock.

He told them some of the stories of his weird childhood. How Brother Francis had taught him to love even snails and slugs, which he later learned they were two common pests for a garden. He told them of the books Nanny would read to him, most about death and destruction. How Brother Francis was a crap gardener but an amazing storyteller. And the time he stole tea from Nanny’s cup without her seeing him and felt his tongue burn the rest of the day (‘Now that I think about it, it might have had whiskey,’ he pondered). He told them about how both had taught him psychological tricks, not on purpose, of course, on how to get what he wanted (courtesy of Nanny) and how to help others (courtesy of Brother Francis). 

It was the longest they had ever heard him talk without a pause. It was as if they had opened the floodgates and the water was rushing through. He clearly missed those times, more than he cared to admit. 

It was during this that Pepper finally realized why Warlock’s integration to the group had been so quickly and smooth. When he talked, it was the same feeling she got when Adam talked. It was kind of soothing, and confident, and honest. Kind of like when they were kids, and they were open to do almost anything if Adam had asked them to. Warlock wasn’t as charming, no one was —charm was Adam’s forte and number one weapon— but when Warlock talked it had to be true because why else would he be spending his precious air to say anything but the truth? Maybe it came from the fact that he spoke very little compared to them, but either way, Pepper felt good for finally pin-pointing something that she had been questioning since meeting him. She’d mention it to Wensley and Brian later that evening and their faces would light up upon realization, as if they had been wondering the same thing. 

“There were times when they felt like parents to me, more than just employees.” Warlock concluded his story, the sadness that took over his face as he snapped the sunglasses shut and hung them back on the neck of his shirt was a harsh contrast to how animatedly he had been telling the stories. 

“What happened to them?” Adam asked, voice softer than usual. Neither him nor Warlock noticed Pepper, Wensley, and Brian slightly sit up and look at him in disbelief. They were both too busy looking into each other’s blue eyes. The other three shared a glance and Pepper mimicked throwing up, making the other two snicker quietly. They had finally realized why Adam acted so strange around Warlock. 

“Disappeared a few days before my eleventh birthday,” he shrugged and held up the sunglasses without taking them off again, “left these and my favorite book of Brother Francis’ collection... no note, no explanation, and when I asked my mother she said they retired.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

“If she wasn’t fighting with my father, she was off in space thinking about who knows what.”

  
  
  
  
  


THE WAY BACK TO ADAM’S HOUSE was nothing like what Adam was used to. Warlock had fallen back into his usual silence, with the occasional quip, until they parted ways with the other three. From then on, he had not stopped talking. And it wasn’t like Adam didn’t like to hear him talk —he could spend hours listening to him without a care in the world— but his aura was wrong. Aura reading, Adam had learned, was the single best tool that Anathema could have ever taught him. It helped a whole lot on making decisions regarding his friends. Warlock, as he went on and on, was very much trying to cover whatever was on his brain at the moment. 

He was talking about destiny, and his belief of it, but had lost Adam about two blocks back. 

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer,” he asked when Warlock finally took a pause. 

The brunet turned to look at him and nodded.

“Why are you so quiet?” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized how it might sound to his friend so he quickly added, “You have a beautiful voice and ideas worth listening to... so...”

Warlock didn’t really answer. Just gave him a half-assed shrug and looked down at the path in front of him. Adam bit his lip.

“Is it because of what you told us in the forest? The nanny and the gardener?”

“I was...” Warlock took a breath and finally glanced up at Adam again. The faded blue looked even more faded as he thought of a time long gone. Adam was beginning to regret asking when Warlock finally focused back. “I was a demonic little kid, to be honest, but they—they at least tolerated me... after they left, no one seemed to tolerate it. I guess it was easier to just shut up and let things slide off like water off a duck’s back.” 

He stayed quiet for a little bit. It was getting cold and both had started shivering, and if they started walking just a little bit closer to each other, no one had to know. 

“Well, I think you’re pretty interesting, so if you wanna talk... just talk.”

Warlock chuckled and nodded gratefully. It was a minute before he took a deep breath, signaling the start of a conversation. It seemed like the rest of the night would continue like that and neither could complain. There was a nice feeling to the night, open and honest and safe. It was different to what he had ever felt before... except maybe that sliver of a second where Crowley had stopped time and with Aziraphale told him they’d be by his side no matter what. It was just a warm feeling, one that compared to no other kind of heat. Just knowing that he could be there, and just  _ be _ . Adam really really hoped Warlock felt the same way, so when he finally looked at him, he was almost startled to see that Warlock had been looking at him. 

“What?”

“My turn to ask a question,” he answered, “why don’t you become a writer?” 

Adam took a second to process the question. “What?”

“You like telling stories, and coming up with ‘em, and you’re good.” He explained before adding sheepishly, “Your mum showed me your stories from when you were younger.”

He blushed bright red. He just wanted to go home —which was now within his line of sight— and have a word with Mrs. Young. He tried to stammer out an answer before giving up and rethink what he wanted to answer. He had not intended to let out how many games he could still make up with a single visit to the forest, but he forgot that Warlock was basically a living lie-detector machine and that for some reason he could read Adam like an open book. 

“I feel like I can do more than that, for the world I mean.”

They reached the house but Warlock stopped him from opening the door. Under the yellow porch light, Warlock holding his hand and turning Adam to look at him, Adam couldn’t help but notice how it looked like a scene out of a book or a movie. Warlock looked into his eyes, holding him firmly in place, and smiled a little fond smile. 

“You already saved the world once, Adam. No need to do it again.” 

He swallowed nervously and wondered if that was it. Was he going to kiss Warlock in the porch of his childhood home? Or better yet, was he brave enough to do it? It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, he had (multiple times), but one thing was to think about it and another very different thing was to follow through. He dared to glance very briefly down at his lips... and then turned away nervously. Warlock chuckled behind him and Adam’s cheeks flared up. He didn’t like how easily Warlock made him blush, or his heart flutter, or made his brain just short circuit. How he seemed to make him lose all his bravery yet give him enough that he felt he could do whatever he wanted. But he also really liked it. Not a lot of people had ever made him feel like that. 

They had dinner, a late dinner, with Adam’s parents in silence. Adam couldn’t think of a single thing to say and Warlock had seemed to have worn himself out after the walk there. His parents had never been really chatty, so after a quick ‘How was your day?’ they fell into a comfortable silence. He could feel his mother looking at both of them, raising a discreet eyebrow when he met her eyes, that he promptly ignored. 

They went to the room after and sat next to each other on Adam’s bed, their knees almost touching. 

“What are your... godfathers like?”

“Huh?”

“Arizaphael and Cowley?”

“Aziraphale and Crowley?”

“Same thing...”

“Well...” Adam hummed and thought about them. They were certainly odd, and difficult to explain without making them sound like they were insane. “When I first met them, they pointed a gun at me.”

He went on about that summer, how they had sided with him, and how for some reason they never left his life again. It had been a pretty distant relationship for about two years and then at thirteen he’d travelled to London for a couple of weeks. His powers had seemed to come back, completely out of his control, and that thought had scared the hell out of him. Adam did not want the event of Armaggedidn’t to repeat, so he sought them out. Asked them to help him to learn control, and about his heritage. He told him about how Crowley yelled at his plants to make them grow, and how he rarely did under ninety in Central London, and how the Bentley refused to play anything but Queen. He also told him about the afternoons he spent with Aziraphale reading first edition books, laughing at fake prophecies, and pulling small pranks on Crowley whenever they could —a thing Aziraphale had apparently started doing more often whenever he could. He told him of the time Crowley had let him try whiskey and how Aziraphale went on an hour long tangent about responsibility before realizing it was apple juice in the glass. 

Warlock just lied there, next to him. Somewhere during the story they had both lied down on the bed, their shoulders brushing with every move Adam made with his hands. He could feel Warlock looking at him but hadn’t dared to turn to him. If it hadn’t been for the occasional snort or snickering, he would’ve thought Warlock had fallen asleep. 

“I have a picture, if you wanna see ‘em,” he said and against better judgement turned to look at him. The pale moonlight that filtered through the window only made his heart stop. Their faces were barely inches apart. 

“Yeah... sure...”

Adam didn’t move to get the picture. He saw Warlock glancing down just a second before he leaned in. It was a rush of energy, tingly and fast, that took over his whole body when their lips met. A kind of sensation that made him wish he could freeze time if just for only a second longer... a kind of sensation that was over too quickly. 

Warlock pulled away, eyes wide and aura dark gray (regret). “I-I’m sorry, that... that was a mistake.”

If kissing Warlock had been electricity, then having his heart broken was definitely sudden ice cold water. It left him gasping for air, feeling cold and empty down to the tip of his toes, without warning and all at once. Part of him wanted to cry; here he was, experiencing what he had only dreamed off before, and have it called a mistake. But another part of him, the piece that still existed from his childhood, stopped him from doing so. If he couldn’t have him as his boyfriend, then just as friends would have to do. He could cry later, alone. 

“Ri-Right,” he stammer and fidgeted with his hands. “Right.”

“Adam, I’m sor—“

“Right, um, the picture.” Adam sat up and stretched to get his phone from the pocket of his coat. He didn’t lie back down. He couldn’t. He’d make an even worse mistake and... he just couldn’t. So he tucked one foot under his other thigh and started scrolling on his camera roll. He heard Warlock sigh deeply and sit up behind him.

“Adam, plea—“ he faltered. He had been looking over his shoulder at the phone and had frozen just as Adam clicked on the picture he was looking for. It was of him, sprawled on the couch of the backroom of the bookshop, while Crowley held a marker to the camera and Aziraphale took a selfie of the event. He wasn’t used to cameras just yet and they had only managed to teach him the selfie mode by then, mainly because Crowley had created them. Adam glanced over his shoulder and saw Warlock’s wide eyes, staring directly into his phone. “Who’s that?”

He followed Warlock’s slender finger and saw Crowley’s face. “That’s Crowley.”

The brunet shook his head, hard enough that some hair fell off the ponytail he had been wearing. He scrambled off the bed and to his feet, crouching by where his backpack was and quickly produced a book out of it. There was a bookmark almost at the end of the book and as Warlock sat down once more, he flipped to the marked page and took the bookmark out. He left the book to the side, not caring that it closed, losing the page. Instead, he shoved the bookmark into Adam’s hand. 

It was an old polaroid. The edges were slightly crumpled from the age, but the picture remained pristine. It was similar to the one Adam had but it was Warlock taking the selfie, with a red-haired woman sitting straight on the couch (the slightest smile on her face), and an older man dressed in white making devil horns with his fingers behind the woman’s head. 

“That’s Nanny Ashtoreth...”

Adam brought the two pictures together, compared them side by side. It was irrefutable that the people in both pictures were the same people, just a different child. Nanny and Crowley had the same impossible red hair, sunglasses, and well, his face shape is pretty unique with the high cheekbones and straight lips. Aziraphale and Brother Francis was a bit harder to see the similarities but with the eyes, and the ring that Adam had always seen him wear, they could both see it. 

“Oh my...” Adame let the sentence trail off. 

“They, they’re the same people...”

Things finally clicked in Adam’s brain. Warlock had told him that they left s few days before his birthday, which coincided with the same week Adam had almost destroyed the world. They had left because of Adam, not because of any self-depreciated reason Warlock had come up with throughout the years. “That explains so much! Why they taught you the snails stuff and that demonic little lullaby you were singing this morning, and, and, and everything really.”

“You know them, you... I...” Warlock huffed, pressing his head into his palms. 

“Do—Do you wanna go see ‘em? I know where they live,” Adam offered and Warlock snapped to look at him. The right description for how his eyes looked at the moment was simply glittering. Glittering with a childish hope that had followed him for years.

“Would you really?”

“We can leave tomorrow, the others can just meet us back in the flat later...”

“Yeah, oh my god, yes. Thank you!”

Adam nodded briefly and cleared his throat. “Then we should go to sleep, we need to leave early.” 

Maybe it was Warlock just being forgetful, or the excitement taking over him, but he planted a kiss on Adam’s cheek and didn’t mention it before going to sleep. Maybe he didn’t even notice he did that, but it left Adam awake for a whole hour, replaying the clip over and over again his brain. He thought he understood him but he was very, extremely, clearly wrong. 

  
  
  
  
  


THE TRAIN RIDE WAS OVER in what seemed a second. Their friends had only answered a single question mark when they told them of their spontaneous trip to London that day. It was also a quiet ride. Adam had about a thousand questions keeping his attention and Warlock was basically vibrating with nerves. He had tried reading, and listening to music, and staring out the window, and even sketching. The latter was what kept his attention the longest (10 minutes and 36 seconds) but it hadn’t been the best idea. It turned out to be a sketch of Adam staring out the window, his chin resting on his hand. Warlock had a lot of things to say to Adam that he didn’t know how to so he didn’t. He had panicked, the previous night. He was usually really good at reading him but when his mind was going haywire... well, it’s kind of like taking a picture through broken a broken lense. It distorted things and Warlock wasn’t sure if Adam even liked him back. It had just been a train wreck and now Warlock, who had never been great at intimate moments, didn’t know how to start the conversation. 

The cab took them from the station to the front door of a little bookshop, that had Adam not pointed out Warlock would have simply passed it without thinking it twice. He watched Adam knock twice on the door, ignoring the closed sign. 

“It says it’s closed, maybe they’re not here...”

Adam chuckled and knocked again, “It’d be a miracle if you ever see this shop open. Aziraphale is the worst at keeping it open.”

As if summoned, the white haired angel opened the door with that welcoming smile of his. If it was slightly murderous until noticing that it was Adam, well, no one had to know. “Oh, hello, Adam.”

Warlock couldn’t help but just mentally point out how different he looked. Of course he looked different, he was an angel who could look however he pleased. Aziraphale was about to talk when a dark figure moved behind him, just close enough to see who was at the door. The sound of shattering glass startled them all. “Oh, oh, dear!” 

Without thinking it twice, Aziraphale fixed the glass of (what looked like) whiskey that Crowley had dropped. The demon’s eyes were fixated on Warlock, unaware of the other two. When he spoke, it was barely above a sigh, “Warlock.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Warlock and the glass shattered against the ground once more. 

“Hi,” he waved meekly. The glass reappeared in Adam’s hands before he moved the three of them inside. They walked to the back room in silence, and once there Warlock and Adam sat down on the couch. Aziraphale took seat in his chair and Crowley moved some papers to sit on the desk. “You’re a man, Nanny...”

He wanted to kick himself for mentioning the obvious but Crowley answered as if it was something worth mentioning. “Sometimes...”

“What do you go by now?”

“Crowley... you?”

“Still Warlock,” he turned to the angel, “and you go by Aziraphale?”

“That’s right, my boy.” The angel nodded quietly. He seemed to be studying him, drinking in all the change that the last eight years had done to him. It had all fallen silent for a couple of seconds then. Silence that Aziraphale broke by clearing his throat and asking, “How have you been? It’s been so long...”

Warlock opened his mouth to speak but nothing other than a choppy sigh left his lung. His blood ran cold, frozen in its track as it tried to figure out how to answer. How had he been? What a loaded question. He wanted to tell them about the days after their disappearance, where everything felt wrong and empty; how the house had felt empty. To tell them how his parents didn’t even blink in his direction unless he was in trouble with the school. How they moved him to America. How isolating the walls of his bedroom felt, as if he had done something worth solitary confinement. So he did. He told them everything. He spoke more than he had spoken in the last eight years without hesitation. He told them of the years where his insomnia would get the best of him, where he’d go to sleep to a damp pillow after hours of running old memories in his brain, looking for what he did wrong. He told them about how he had hated himself for so long (he failed to notice that when he absentmindedly rubbed at his wrists, Crowley looked and quickly looked away, swallowing the knot on his throat) because he had done something, something he didn’t know he did, bad enough to make them hate him and leave. How he had looked for another explanation and didn’t find it. He told them about how he was stuck with the school’s therapist twice a week, and then a private therapist on Sundays who was almost convinced that he was borderline schizophrenic because whose caretaker would teach a kid about blood and death other than a figment of his imagination? He told them about the fights. The runaway plans. The cops that’d bring him to the Dowling residence every fucking time. He spoke, and spoke, and spoke. His voice was going sore from the speaking —or was he yelling?— and his throat felt like sanding paper. But he continued, for he had eight years worth of self-hatred, and anger, and sadness, and pain. He told them about how he had looked for them, when the moon was high, and had broken his hand twice from punching the wall in frustration. He could never find them, of course he couldn’t, he was looking for people who had never existed at all. For names that were as real as the flat Earth theory. For them. He could feel Adam’s hand on his forearm, the only barrier between him standing up and leaving, and the only tether that kept him grounded to Earth. Be he ignored Adam. He told them that he now understood that they had to save the world, he did, but it had been so many years... and they had never came back. Never called, or visited, or anything. They had left him stranded. Cut his only ties to the world and left. Left him with parents that barely acknowledged his existence as politics got rougher and their fights behind closed doors got louder. Left him to fend for himself, with a handful of spare knowledge that did nothing for him. Knowledge about plants and history. Knowledge about love, that most nights seemed to be a taunt that he’d never experience it because he knew about it. He told them about how’d they been like parents to him, and how he’d realized the Monday right before his eleventh birthday that they were not coming back from the weekend. Finally, he told them about his silence. His voice wavering, hoarse and almost below a whisper, from the use. How he didn’t fight. Or didn’t talk much. Or how he had redone himself to fit in better. Or didn’t express himself. Celebrate, mourned, argued, apologized, or anything. He had fallen into easy silence because at least that way, he’d never upset anyone enough to leave him without saying goodbye. 

“You ruined my life by not saying goodbye—by not telling me, or explaining, or—or—“ 

Warlock’s body was shaking and his face was wet from tears that hadn’t even noticed before. He fell back against the couch and Adam, who had been rubbing a calming hand on his back for the last couple of minutes, and felt like his chest was caving in on itself. He had angrily wiped the tears away the best he could, and just wanted to stomp away from the bookshop and London itself, but the fury that had been feeding his voice was wearing out. The world around him was slowly coming back into a normal pace, testing the waters as if he’d start talking again, but he didn’t. 

He just sat there and shook, an arm wrapped around his middle, a futile try to stop the shaking. No one moved, spoke, or even breathed for a minute as the last words sunk in. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t even look at him, not that Warlock was even paying attention to that as his eyes stuck to the rips on his knees, and Adam was quietly waiting. He knew it wasn’t his place to speak. Crowley, on the other hand, was staring directly at Warlock through the sunglasses. He had noticed Warlock’s own sunglasses, the pair he had left for him the day they left (along with the book Aziraphale had given him), and how he had held on a pair of sunglasses just because of them. 

The demon was the first to move. He got off the desk and kneeled in front of Warlock, ignoring the empty space on the couch where he could’ve sat. Crowley placed a hand over the rip that Warlock was glaring at intensely, and managed to get the boy’s attention. He removed his own sunglasses and golden snake eyes stared directly into Warlock’s faded blue. 

“Darling, I— I’m sorry.” Crowley ran a hand through the boy’s hair, like he used to do when he was little, and offered him a tiny sincere smile. “I’m sorry you ever thought we hated you, we could never.”

“After we found out you were not the Antichrist,” Aziraphale glanced at Adam briefly, “we thought it’d be better if you continued growing up like a normal human child.” 

“But—“

“And I guess I could’ve been more obvious,” Crowley huffed and looked down at the floor, ashamed.

Warlock frowned confusedly, “More obvious?”

“Oh, I never left,” Crowley smirked slightly but both Warlock and Adam could see it was a façade. Adam could read his aura (dark grey, regret) and Warlock was pretty good at reading people, including demons and angels. ”Do you remember having a substitute for history, often?”

“Yo—you were Mr. Harrison?!” 

“Yup,” Crowley said, popping the p loudly. 

He let the information sink in. They had cared ––enough to infiltrate his life––– hidden to check on him without causing too many problems. They did care, and now they were sitting in front of him —apologizing, too! He eyes started prickling once more and he quickly threw himself into Crowley’s arms, who huffed and then chuckled a quiet laugh, running his fingers through Warlock’s dark brown hair. It felt like a mirror from when he was younger and had nightmares. He would run to Nanny’s room and do the same thing; throw himself in her arms and cry. And, yeah, Warlock had grown to be a man, but there were always going to be things that brought their little boy back like those hugs.

Crowley dared to press a kiss into the boy’s hair, and earned an even tighter hug. 

Aziraphale, smiling fondly at the scene, cleared his throat slightly, “I am sorry, my boy. I should’ve left a note or told you before we left. I never meant to cause you pain.” 

Warlock hummed and let go of Crowley, sitting back into the couch and smiled softly at Aziraphale. Things were going to get better now. “It’s alright, I forgive you.” 

A comfortable silence fell upon them and reigned for a minute or two. Adam was the one who broke the silence this time. 

“So, if—if you wanted the Antichrist to be human incarnate,” he said with a frown pulling at his brows, “then why did you think that you two should teach him your ways? Wasn’t it better if humans taught him to be, y’know, human?”

“That’s... That’s a very good point.” Crowley hummed. 

“Could you imagine if I had been the Antichrist?” Warlock looked at Adam and the two started giggling like little kids. 

Aziraphale shook his head, “No, no, it’s not funny. We would have tried to kill you and maybe Madame Tracy wouldn’t have been there to stop us.”

Warlock’s giggles immediately stopped. “Kill me?”

The blond boy patted his shoulder and shrugged, “They tried to kill me, too, it’s no big deal.”

“You tried to kill Adam?!”

“Well, yeah—but we obviously suck so... water under the bridge, and all that.”

Warlock still huffed in disbelief as he looked between the demon and the angel. Aziraphale had gone pink with embarrassment. 

“I am, unfortunately, not great with children, you see...”

The boys looked at each other and began giggling once more, “Oh, we know.”

Crowley joined them on their laughter until Aziraphale gave a little ‘hrrmph’. Crowley rolled his eyes and kissed his cheek, making the already pink angel go bright red and look away. The boys scrunched up their faces and their giggles became true laughter. The room was in a much lighter mood when Aziraphale offered them something to drink, like tea or maybe even wine. 

  
  
  
  
  


IT WAS GETTING LATE when they left the bookshop. The streets were already lit up with streetlights, and the cold wind of the night was ruffling their hair. Despite that, Warlock was feeling warm inside, a warmth he hadn’t felt in years and he hadn’t realized how much he craved for it. 

Crowley and Aziraphale had walked them to the door, and stopped them before they could actually leave. 

“Are you living here in London?”

“Yeah.”

“And flying to your family for break?” 

Warlock had huffed out a laugh, “What family?” 

Crowley had adjusted his stance, a nervous telling he also did back when he played Nanny. “Well, if there’s anything you need, we’re here for you.”

He couldn’t help but smirk and raise an eyebrow at the demon who was very much avoiding looking at him in the eyes. 

“Going soft, Nanny?” 

“For you, my darling, anything.” Warlock had rolled his eyes at how cheesy that was but still gave him a brief hug.

Aziraphale had looked at Adam seriously and added, “That goes for you too, my boy.” 

The latter rolled his eyes in a ‘I know’ kind of way. He’d later tell Warlock that they told him that every single time he left and that he better get used to it because they would do it to him over and over again. 

Warlock found out he didn’t care if they told him that every time. He chuckled with Adam as the two made their way down to the bus stop. There was still one bus they could catch before having to ask Crowley to drive them home. As they sat on the bench, waiting in a comfortable silence, Warlock turned to look at Adam. The streetlight behind him made his wild golden curls look like an angel’s halo, which caused him to chuckle at the irony. 

“What?”

“Nothing, um, can we talk? About... about last night.”

Adam tensed and looked away. “You got caught in the moment, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not that,” Warlock wrung his hands nervously. “I really like you, Adam. Like, romantically or whatever...” 

He saw the boy’s face light up before he frowned in confusion, “But, then why’d you call it a mistake?”

“I didn’t ask you beforehand,” he muttered and looked away, “For all I knew, I had forced a kiss on you, and I didn’t want to do that. And then you moved away to get the picture and wouldn’t let me explain, and when I saw Nan—Crowley, my mind slipped.” 

“You freaked out,” Adam corrected with a chuckle. Warlock felt his cheeks heat and his palms get clammy. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to your explanation.” 

Warlock smiled fondly and as the two leaned in, he whispered, “Can I kiss you?

Adam didn’t give him much of an answer as he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. It was like turning the hot of the shower after realizing it was freezing cold; a warmth —an explosion that reached everything, from the tip of their toes to every individual hair. The two leaned away after a little bit, their breathing shallow and grins plastered on their faces. 

“Adam Young, I have bad news,” Warlock grinned and pressed a quick peck to the blond’s lips, “I think I’m in love with you, and you’re going to have to deal with me for the foreseeable future.” 

“Oh, dear me,” Adam muttered sarcastically and kissed Warlock once more, only to be interrupted by the arrival of the bus with its squealing brakes. 

The two climbed on, avoiding the driver’s eyes, and sat down near the end, side by side, with Adam near the window. The bus started moving and after a few minutes, Warlock intertwined their fingers, gaining a bright smile from Adam. 

“You know,” Adam started, almost quieter than a whisper but loud enough for Warlock to hear in the empty bus, “you really shouldn’t have to walk to yours at this hour of the night.”

“Oh?”

“You could stay at my place, if you’d like.” 

Warlock looked at Adam’s tinted cheeks and smiled. He nodded briefly and looked away, a grin stretching his lips, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I know that, technically, neither book or TV show ever say that the Dowling's are bad parents (if anything, they're not great but not bad either), but I needed a reason for Warlock to really really really miss Aziraphale and Crowley. So, bad parenting it is. Also, I think Adam would be a hot mess in front of his crush simply because he's used to being in somewhat control of his feelings. Oh, and that monstrous paragraph? Yeah, that is the sole reason I wrote this... It's a whole page in Google Docs. It's meant to be overwhelming.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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